#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Surprise Snow After Moon
“We have more possibilities available in each moment than we realize.”
Where did this come from, the snow? At daylight I am surprised by the frosting of the driveway and the lawn and the windows of the cars and the steps to the house. I was awake a lot during the night and even saw in the sky a moon shining between a break in clouds. Frank and I, at the door, watch the special one exit into the wintry scene, holding the hand of his mother, starting his day. From Charlie I ask patience. And off for a hearty swim. Returning for my time with him. To the river we go. Some ice back, all is covered with a layer of white. I feel very quiet and awed and curious and present. A friend calls suddenly, and I answer her call because I sense she needs my help with something, even though I am hesitant to break my silence. I have my photos. Monday morning is catching up on threads and planning for things to come. And, since my Monday night poetry group restarts, a poem must be written. It comes easily as the snow after the moon. In the late afternoon I am at the playground in the sandbox building houses to be crashed down with glee. The special one with me. And he takes longer to be very very cold, and I, like Charlie, must be patient. Then, suddenly, he realizes. He is very very cold, especially his hands, and now our going home is urgent. And I am grateful for it. We are at the base of the hill, the drive to the cemetery where my parents’ ashes live under their bench, so I spontaneously drive by, a wave, and I point: my parents are over there, I say. “I want to see them,” he says. Indeed.
Nest of Confusion